


Watch the Queen Conquer

by deadcliche



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Comedy, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fem!Iwaizumi, Female Iwaizumi, Femdom, Fluff, Genderbending, Light Femdom, PWP, Pegging, Plot What Plot, Post-Time Skip, Praise Kink, Set in 2020, Smut, canon compliant but Iwa is a girl, cute/funny/sexy, genderbent Iwaizumi, i would fall in love with fem!iwa (26) athletic trainer, no plot just peg, obvi they're both bi because I do not believe in heterosexuality, stupidly in love, we just want to peg Oikawa and make him cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadcliche/pseuds/deadcliche
Summary: While quarantining in San Juan with her fiance, Iwaizumi decides to take Oikawa down a few pegs.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 23
Kudos: 165
Collections: One shots, porn_with_or_without_plot





	Watch the Queen Conquer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [niawho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niawho/gifts).



> A simple tweet about pegging Bokuto turned into a lot of thirst tweeting and DMing about pegging Haikyuu characters and now here we are. This is for you, Nia. Keep being horny.
> 
> Title comes from Nicki's iconic verse in [Monster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QrUiwmZONb0&ab_channel=MarkHazzard).

It starts, as most things do between them, with a joke. They’d kissed for the first time at sixteen, after an argument about the best Hunter Hunter character got too heated (because honestly, what was Oikawa thinking? Killua would kick Leorio’s ass, no matter how ‘smooth’ he is). Faces flushed and too close, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but taunt her best friend, telling him “oohh, you want to kiss me so bad right now.” And then Oikawa closed the short distance between their lips and kissed her. She’d frozen in shock, but when he pulled away with a sheepish apology, Iwaizumi threw herself back into his arms, lips crashing against his. A decade and an engagement later, they still communicate primarily in taunts and teasing, with a lifetime of inside jokes between them.

She’s currently stretched out across the couch with her head in Oikawa’s lap, mindlessly scrolling through social media because really, what else are they supposed to do during a lockdown? She’s been in San Juan for just over a week; she’d been planning a visit during the off-season anyway, but with volleyball cancelled for the foreseeable future and a lockdown in place, she figured quarantining with her fiance in Argentina would be far more fun than spending that time alone in Tokyo, or with her parents in Miyagi. She can send her players training regimens from anywhere. The TikToks Oikawa is watching above her, punctuated by his occasional chuckles, provide a soundtrack to the endless scroll of memes at her fingertips. 

“Iwa-chan?” She looks away from her phone and up at Oikawa’s face, and he continues. “Why is everyone on my for you page talking about pegging? Did I miss something?” 

Iwaizumi shrugs. “Hashtag peg all men 2020, you know? Who knows where it started, but it’s a  _ thing _ now.” She’s certainly seen countless posts about pegging recently.

Oikawa furrows his brow in thought and she can’t help but smile up at him; it’s not her fault, he really is so damn cute. “So is it just a meme? Or are all of these people actually pegging?” 

“How am I supposed to know, Pervykawa? I’m not in their bedrooms. Run a Twitter poll, or something.” The suggestion is in gest; all Oikawa’s thirst traps are tolerated, because they really are good for business, but Club Athletico’s social media manager would probably have an aneurism if he saw something that explicit on Oikawa’s Twitter page. 

“Hmm,” he says absentmindedly, and Iwaizumi is about to return to her own feeds when Oikawa speaks again. “Time for us to get up. There’s a new dance we have to learn for my TikTok. It’s to Savage and it should be easy enough that even you can learn it, with your two left feet and complete lack of rhythm.” 

“Do I have to?” She groans because she’s been in Argentina for nine days and has already been forced to do one of these dances. “Just do it yourself. Why do I have to be in it?” 

Oikawa stands abruptly, Iwaizumi’s head smacking back into the couch cushions. “Come on,  _ mi amor _ . Don’t you want to remind all my fangirls that I’m taken? You know how popular I am.” He holds a hand out to help her off the couch. 

Iwaizumi has half a mind to slap the hand away. “They can have you, Shittykawa. It’d be a relief if someone finally took you off of my hands. You’ve been burdening me for far too long,” she grumbles. Still, Iwaizumi takes his hand and allows Oikawa to pull her up from the couch and show her the silly little dance she has to learn. 

*

Iwaizumi never expected anything to come from their brief conversation–if it could really be called that, it was more just an offhand comment–about pegging. But the next day Oikawa shows her another meme about pegging, and suddenly it becomes a whole  _ thing _ between them. Every time either of them come across a post about pegging on any of their social media feeds, they share it with the other and exchange a couple laughs. Because it’s just a joke, isn’t it? She’s more than curious about what it would be like to bend Oikawa over and fuck him, but Oikawa never mentions it in respects to them. He hasn’t wondered what it would be like or given any inclination that it’s something he would be interested in. He seems to just find the internet’s current obsession with pegging amusing and given the current state of the world, they’re both trying to find as many things to laugh about as possible. So what if her stomach twitches when he points out the size difference between a couple on TikTok and she realizes that the height difference between her and Oikawa is even more significant than these strangers’. So what if all she can think of as she coaches Oikawa through his daily yoga practice, a habit she forced him into to help with his knee, is how good he’d look folded up in similar positions with far fewer clothes as she pounds into him. It isn’t that Iwaizumi is afraid to tell Oikawa about her newfound fantasy; they’ve been together for a decade and best friends their entire lives—there’s nothing she wouldn’t say to him. But if she asks, it stops being a joke. If she asks and he’s not interested, they’ve lost the joke without gaining any sex, and they both need more laughter in the midst of a global pandemic.

It’s been nearly a week since pegging first came up, and they’re back in the same positions on the couch, this time watching some Argentine Telenovela Oikawa is obsessed with. Iwaizumi cannot follow it at all; she’s picked up some Spanish through Oikawa, but not nearly enough to follow the rapid speech of the show. But it makes her fiance laugh and that’s better entertainment than any soap opera could provide. Oikawa is carding his fingers through her hair, shouting at Maria on the screen that her boyfriend is cheating on her with her identical twin sister; Iwaizumi secretly wonders if anything like that ever happened to the Miya twins. 

The show cuts to a commercial. “So I’ve been thinking…” Oikawa sounds hesitant, and she turns her head in his lap to look back up at him. Oikawa always speaks freely with her, so it’s strange when he doesn’t continue.

“That’s definitely remarkable. It’s a good thing you’re pretty and athletic, because you’re definitely not the smart one.” 

“Always so mean to me, Iwa-chan. I know you love me.” As she’d hoped, the teasing loosens his lips, and Oikawa continues. “I’ve been thinking about pegging. I want to try it.” 

“R-really?” She stammers, eyes wide, heat pooling in her lower abdomen. 

“Yeah. I uh… I want you to fuck me.” Oikawa’s mask falls and he looks nervous and it’s adorable and she’s been thinking about this all week. Which is why it’s incredibly inconvenient that she opens her mouth and finds herself unable to speak, lips flapping soundlessly like a goldfish. Her silence flusters him, and he begins to back track. “But uh, no problem if you don’t want to of course, it’s not a big deal either way, maybe it is a little weird.” 

Iwaizumi sits up from her reclined position and throws a leg over Oikawa’s lap, straddling him as she crashes her lips against his, pulling at his hair and rolling her hips against his. She pulls away slightly, lips settling against his ear. “I’ve been imagining how pretty you’d look, bent over and begging me for it all damn week. Every single time you’d show me a fucking meme, I wanted to drag you into the bedroom, shove your face into the mattress, and fuck you until you’re moaning my name.” 

They don’t even make it to the bedroom; Iwaizumi rides Oikawa on the couch, the telenovela still playing in the background. 

*

“What about this one?” The size seems reasonable to her and it’s Seijoh blue, which is appealing in a nostalgic sort of way. The fleshtone options equipt with realistic anatomical features like veins and a head kind of weird her out. 

Oikawa blanches. “That looks… big.” 

Iwaizumi frowns. “It’s a couple centimeters smaller than you are, Scaredykawa. And I’ve taken you up my ass. It’s a lot easier than you think.”

Oikawa purses his lips, but doesn’t reply. 

She leans up to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “We can go as small as you want, Tooru.”

“I trust you,” he says with a small shrug. “And this one is Seijoh blue. Feels kinda perfect, doesn’t it?” 

“You’re so fucking sappy,” she teases, even though she had the exact same thought. 

He places a soft kiss against the top of her head. “I wish we got to wear that uniform on the court together. If you’d been my ace, we would’ve beaten Shiritorizawa. No one expects such a powerful spike from someone as tiny as you are. I would’ve loved playing with you in real matches past elementary school.” 

And it’s so sweet it makes her chest hurt, so all she can do is tease him in response. “Pretty pathetic you feel like you needed a girl to beat your rival, Oikawa.” But she means that she loves him, and she knows he knows that.

*

Iwaizumi feels deeply sympathetic for the world in 1918, when Spanish Influenza forced people into a similar quarantine, but without the ability to order absolute necessities like sex toys online with two-day shipping, as she collects their package from the doorstep. Oikawa is in the kitchen, cooking some strange fusion of Argentine and Japanese cuisines that probably doesn’t exist outside of them and she joins him, dropping the package onto the counter with a soft thump. He looks up from his cooking, eying the package. “What’d we get today?” 

“The sex toys.” And it’s adorable the way his cheeks flush at her bluntness. “I figure we can eat lunch, watch a movie or something, and then…” 

“Then you’ll fuck me?” Oikawa’s eyes are wide and he looks nervous and eager and she steps closer to him, grabbing the collar of his shirt to tug him down to her level. She kisses him softly. 

“Only if you’re good, Tooru.” Iwaizumi watches as he plates the food; some combination of locra and curry that would probably offend their mothers in Japan as well as all of the neighbors in Oikawa’s building and rice, but they enjoy it, and that’s all that matters. He follows her to the table and they say a quick thanks before beginning to eat. “Do we need rules?” They’ve tried things in the past that required laying out boundaries and choosing a safe word. 

“Rules?” Oikawa seems confused, and she supposes it has been several minutes since the conversation about pegging halted. 

“Rules. For me pegging you. I don’t know, sometimes you make me pick a safe word because you’re afraid you’re going to hurt me.” 

He arches an eyebrow in that typical, Great King Oikawa way that makes her want to kiss him and spike a volleyball into his face simultaneously. “Oh. Do you want to be rough with me?” He croons. 

Iwaizumi looks down at her plate. “Maybe,” she admits softly.

“Well, you know what I always say.” And Oikawa pauses, waiting for her to look back up at him. He doesn’t continue until she does, that cocky smirk on his face. “If you’re going to hit it, hit it ‘til it breaks.” 

She scoffs at him. Iwaizumi had only brought it up to be prepared but now? Now she’s determined to make him cry. 

  
  


*

“I’m not going to touch you until you make me come,” Iwaizumi explains as she straddles Oikawa’s face. “If you want me to fuck you, prove it to me.” He groans and grips her thighs in response, fingers digging in with a delicious pressure, encouraging her to settle down against Oikawa’s face. And she feels… dominant. It’s not like they haven’t done this before; Oikawa is good with his tongue in any position, but riding his face is the fastest route to orgasm. And it’s not like Iwaizumi has never taken charge before. But never to this extent, and the power coursing through her veins sinks deep into her core. The promise of what’s to come is thrilling. His first lick is long and soft, tracing the length of her slit, and she shudders against him, hands shooting up to grip the headboard to steady herself. 

Iwa feels the shaky exhale of Oikawa’s moan against her clit. “You’re so fucking wet. Tastes so good.” He tongues her lightly, short brushes against her clit that have her whimpering and trying to grind down against him, but his grip on her thighs prevents her from gaining the increase in friction she’s so desperate for. 

“Stop fucking teasing me, Oikaw-ahh.” Her voice breaks on his name as he gives her another too gentle touch. “Be a good boy and get me off. I’m not going to fuck you until after I come on your pretty face.” She’s desperate and twitching and the small part of her brain that isn’t seeking pleasure is determined to make Oikawa pay for all his fucking teasing. 

Iwaizumi is not sure if it’s the desperation in her voice, the promise of what’s to come if he does what she says, or the little bits of praise that do it, but the last word is barely past her lips before Oikawa is pulling her down flush against his mouth, tongue lapping against her clit with the pressure she’d been craving. She’s grinding against his face, back arching as the tension within her builds at an unprecedented rate. Oikawa is relentless, tongue never slowing as it slides against her, broad strokes with the flat of his tongue, tight circles with the tip. Iwaizumi is whimpering, choking out expletives and Oikawa’s name between her moans, each flick of his tongue punctuated by a roll of her hips and a groan. “Oikawaaaa, Tooru, Oikaaa,” it’s a desperate chant. Oikawa sets into a torturous rhythm and she’s climbing, a knot forming and tightening deep within her core. “Fuck, right there. That’s it.” It’s overwhelming and almost too much, but Iwaizumi sinks deeper. “Don’t stop, Tooru, please, fuck, don’t stop.” And she’s bearing down on him, so hard that if she could think about anything other than the pleasure she’s chasing, she might worry about smothering him. A few more licks and she’s ruined, the knot snapping after being stretched to its breaking point. She comes with a mangled version of his name on her lips, clenching and shuddering above him, thighs gripping Oikawa’s head as he continues his ministrations, prolonging her orgasm. He continues to lick her softly until she’s wincing away from the contact, dismounting and flopping down onto the bed, chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath. 

“That’s my favorite way to shut you up, you know?” 

Oikawa smirks, but doesn’t say anything as he climbs on top of her. His skin is slick with her arousal, and Iwaizumi kisses him greedily, relishing in the fact that she can taste herself on his lips. He’s grinding against her as she ravages his mouth, the texture of his boxer briefs torturous against her oversensitive clit. Oikawa pulls away, pressing open mouthed kisses along the curve of her jaw and up to her ear. He catches the lobe between his teeth, tugging slightly. “I want you so badly, Iwa-chan. Can’t wait to feel you inside me.” 

Iwaizumi hooks her legs around his hips and rolls them, sliding down his body until she’s settled on the bed in between his thighs. His cock is straining against his grey boxer briefs, damp with a combination of his precome and her wetness; Calvin Klein, of course, he did that whole campaign with them that inspired an unbelievable number of thirst tweets–she swears she wasn’t fucking jealous. And maybe she has the entire campaign saved to her camera roll. What’s a girl to do when her fiance is across the world? She drags her fingers against his length through the fabric, so light it’s barely a touch, smirking as his hips twitch into her hand. Iwaizumi presses her other hand into his hip in an attempt to still him as she continues to ghost against him with the tips of her fingers. He lets out a choked little moan and she smirks. “It’s not nice when I tease, is it Tooru?” She gives him a little squeeze, but her hand is off his dick before the groan leaves his lips. 

“Iwaaaa,” his voice breaks and it sends a shudder down her spine. Despite the pressure of her hand against his hip, Oikawa is flexing upwards, chasing the contact she’s denied him. 

“What, you don’t like being teased?” Iwaizumi isn’t entirely sure where this persona even came from, all she knows is that she wants to make Oikawa beg and tremble and cry. Her fingers tease under the waistband of his underwear, nails against his skin. His agreement is broken and breathy and she fucking loves it. “I told you to get me off, like a good boy. And you did, but you also teased me. It’s only fair I tease you, too. Isn’t that right, Oikawa?” 

“Please, Hajime.” His voice is shaky, but she wants it to completely break. She won’t be satisfied until there are tears in his eyes. But she decides to indulge him, at least a little, and tugs the top of those damn boxer briefs down to his thighs, his dick standing at attention, red and leaking. 

“Oh, I think I like the way you sound when you’re begging.” She leans down, her tongue against the base of his cock and licks up the length softly, tonguing over his slit. His hips flex up, chasing the heat of her mouth, but Iwaizumi pulls away, smirk on her face as she watches him tremble. Watches the furrow between his brows and desperation in his eyes. He lets out a choked noise, halfway between indignation and pleasure. “I want you to beg me for it, Oikawa. That’s the only way you’re getting what you want.” Iwaizumi returns to lightly tracing his cock, intermittently reaching down to cup his balls. Her touch is soft and tortuous as she waits for Oikawa’s pride to shatter. 

“Please… Please, oh fuck.” She gives him another gentle squeeze. “Iwaaaa, please. Please. Hajime, I can’t… I can’t fucking take it. Please touch me. I want to feel you.” 

He’s not crying, but the pleading is delicious, so she decides to indulge him. This whole thing is an exercise in her self control; she wants nothing more than to fucking slam inro him, but she swallows the urge and continues to move slowly. Hajime leans over, reaching to the corner of the bed where they placed the strapon and lube. The cap clicks as she opens it and Oikawa’s eyes are on her again, pleading. She coats her fingers in the slick fluid, rubbing them together in an attempt to warm it faster. Iwaizumi resettles between his legs, clean hand tracing up and down his thighs. He looks good like this, but in all her fantasies he was on his hands and knees while he penetrated him. “I want you on your hands and knees,” she instructs and Oikawa is quick to obey, calves hitting her hips as he kicks his boxer briefs the rest of the way off and rearranges his legs around her. He's on his hands and knees and she presses her clean hand into his lower back, forcing his spine to arch. “You look so pretty like this.” 

Oikawa moans. 

Iwaizumi lifts her lube slicked hand, pressing it between his cheeks, only the lightest pressure against his asshole. He throws his ass back against her hand and she knows she’s fucking dripping with arousal despite the prior orgasm. She pushes her index finger against the tight muscle harder–she’s a breadth away from entering him–and she feels his shudder in her core. “Someone’s eager,” she teases, though she’s probably just as eager to be inside Oikawa as he is to have her inside him. Iwaizumi presses her index finger further, groaning in unison with Oikawa as she enters him. She’s only in to her first knuckle but he’s hot and tight and the pressure against her finger makes her exhale shakily, but it’s covered by Oikawa’s desperate noises. 

“More,” he pleads. Iwaizumi slides the rest of the way in, thrusting one, two, three times before adding another finger. “Oh god, Iwaaa.” 

She’d never really thought about Oikawa’s ashole until last week, but the sight of it gripping her fingers is going to fuel her fantasies for months. “So good, Tooru. You’re taking me so good. You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?” She fucks him slowly with two fingers, twisting and spreading them to stretch him out. 

“Iwaaaa,” he’s trembling against her, and she stills, inspired. He whines at the lack of friction. 

“Fuck yourself, Tooru. On my fingers.” She can’t see his face at this angle, but if the blush in his ears is anything to go by, his face is flushed and red and Iwaizumi can’t help but picture the embarrassment in his eyes. Still, he rocks backwards against her stationary hand. “So desperate, aren’t you?” 

He doesn’t respond, just continues to push against her hand with increased intensity. Iwaizumi stills him with a hand on his hip as she curves her fingers, searching for his prostate. She doesn’t quite know where to find it, but suddenly Oikawa is yelping, chest sinking down to the mattress, back arched and ass raised and she knows she’s found it. Iwaizumi does her best to tease the bundle of nerves and if Oikawa’s mewlings are anything to go by, she’s succeeding. She adds in a third finger, stretching and twisting purposefully. Iwaizumi wants him ready for her, overwhelmed by the desire to slam into him. 

“M’ready,” he insists, and who is she to deny him? Iwaizumi pulls out of him, frowning as he winces; maybe she should’ve gone slower. She pockets that knowledge as she climbs off the bed to step into the harness, tightening the straps against her thighs. Hajime had tried it on in the privacy of the bathroom earlier today, adamant that Oikawa not see her in it until this moment, but the novelty of  _ having a dick _ hasn’t faded and she can’t help but stare down at the turquoise dildo for a moment, just taking it in. 

“Fuck, you look sexy.” Oikawa is still on his hands and knees, but has twisted his head around to stare at her and he looks hungry. Inspired, she calmors onto the bed hastily, resettling behind him. Iwaizumi grabs the bottle of lube, slicking the strapon up. Iwaizumi takes a deep breath, maneuvering herself against his entrance. 

“Are you ready for me, Tooru?” She purrs, her hips desperate to trust into him. 

“So ready. Please, Iwa-chan.”

She grips his hips and enters him slowly, savoring his little noises and the sight of the strapon sinking into him. He’s stretched around the dildo, and she watches salaciously as the turquoise slides into puckered pink flesh. And she knows that objectively, she can’t feel it. It’s silicon attached to her body by an assortment of straps, she can’t feel anything, really. But the feeling of Tooru clenched around her fingers is fresh in her mind, and she swears she feels  _ something _ as he grips her strap. Iwaizumi pauses when she’s fully sheathed within him, giving Oikawa a few moments to adjust to the feeling as he squirms around her. 

Then he’s grinding back against her, pleading with her. “Move, please, Hajime. Fuck me.” 

Her first thrust is shaky and apparently little too rough, as Oikawa struggles to swallow his wince. Iwaizumi stills again inside of him, stroking his hip in what she hopes is a comforting manner and apologizing. She wants to make this good for him, but it’s a very foreign experience for her.

“Don’t stop, Iwa. Just go slow. This is my first time, you know.” Oikawa’s voice trembles, but he doesn’t sound like he’s in pain, so Iwaizumi pulls back as slowly as she can, only exiting him a few centimeters, before pushing back in at the same pace. Hajime thinks back to their first time; it was awkward and bumbling and not entirely comfortable, and she wouldn’t change it for anything. The memory mixes with Oikawa’s heavy breathing, now tinged with pleasure, and she continues her movements, each thrust increasing in length at that same, syrupy pace. 

“How does it feel, Tooru? How do I feel?” 

“B-better,” he chokes. “It’s… it’s a lot but you, you feel… Fuck, so good.” 

Iwaizumi experiments with a slightly faster thrust again, and Oikawa shakes beneath her. Once again, she stills. “Are you okay?” 

“God, do that again. Please, please don’t stop. Fuck me.”

A slight smirk on her lips, she grips his hips and begins to fuck him in earnest. Short, fast strokes that have him panting. Long, deep strokes where she almost pulls out entirely, just to slam back into him. Iwaizumi watches him hungrily, desperate to commit everything about this to memory; the way his back arches on certain strokes, the way his arms tremble until he finally just drops, face falling into the mattress, mouth open and drooling into the sheets. She can hear her voice in her ears, bits of praise falling from her without thinking. 

He whimpers when she pulls out, slower this time, hips twitching back, chasing her. “Hajime,” he chokes. “Why? Why’d you stop?” 

“I want to watch your face while you come. Get on your back.” The view of his ass was incredible, but her breath catches in her throat as he turns over and she finally gets to look into his eyes. He’s fucking debauched, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy and wet, a few teardrops shimmering on the sharp angle of his cheekbones. Iwaizumi leans over, forearms framing his shoulders. He expects her to kiss him, mouth open and pliant, but she moves past his lips, tongue against his cheek instead, tasting the saltiness of his ruin. And it’s fucking lewd and depraved and she wonders who she’s become as she imagines making him sob underneath her, just so she can drink his fucking tears. The taste of his destruction is intoxicating on her tongue as she resettles between his thighs, hooking an arm underneath each of his knees and yanking him against her. This time, she slams into him without preamble, marveling in the way Oikawa’s eyes roll back and mouth opens as she bottoms out within him. 

The change in position was the right decision and Iwaizumi takes in the sight of him. The way he shakes when she hits a certain angle with her thrusts. The way his cock rests against his stomach, leaking a trail of precome onto his abs. The way his face looks, twisted up in pleasure, panting before her. The way his lips shape around her name.  _ Iwa-chan, Iwaizumi, Hajime, mi amor _ . It’s a desperate chant and the light pressure of the harness against her may not be providing Iwaizumi with much friction, but the sight and sounds of her fiance before may be her undoing. 

“Harder, Hajime. Please.” Begging has never sounded so good.

She snaps her hips, the sound of skin against skin like a drumbeat, pressing her on. And Oikawa wails, back arching off the bed and Iwaizumi knows she’s found the right angle. “You like that, Tooru?”

“Fuck, Hajime. Please, please don’t stop.”

She wraps his right leg around her waist before reaching out to grip his cock. There’s still a trace of lube on her hand, mixing with his precome, to provide enough slickness for her to jerk him off in time with her thrusts. And she’s panting, both in pleasure and exhaustion because fuck, this is difficult and unlike anything she’s ever done before, but she’d give anything to watch him unravel, so she presses onward. 

Iwaizumi can tell that he’s close; Oikawa is twitching helplessly, trying to fuck up into her hand and down into her strap simultaneously, and there’s no sense to his moans anymore. “Are you going to come for me, Tooru?” 

“Close. M’close.” His eyes are screwed shut and he’s gnawing down on his lip. 

“Open your eyes, Tooru. I want to watch you come. Want to see it in your eyes. Want you to scream my name when you do. Will you do that for me?” 

Oikawa’s eyes fly open and she stares into them, black pupils wide against the warm brown of his irises. He gives a strangled noise, but nods his agreement. 

“Such a good boy for me.” Her pace is frantic and her wrist is aching from matching the tempo of her hips, but he keens at her praise. It only takes a few more thrusts and Oikawa is coming, cock twitching in her hand, white ropes splattering over his stomach and chest. He obliges her, a strangled and drawn out version of her given name echoing in the small bedroom, in her head. And Iwaizumi is fucking him through it, grinding into him, and she wants to prolong his pleasure, but the pressure of the harness against her is delicious and very nearly enough. It’s so close to enough, but then Oikawa winces from the overstimulation of her strap against his prostate, so she withdrawals slowly. “You were so good, Tooru. You looked incredible like that.” Her voice is rough and she’s panting and fuck does she want more. 

Oikawa can’t even open his eyes to acknowledge her, he just smiles, a small and earnest little thing, as he struggles to catch his breath, sinking into the mattress, limbs slack. And she’s tired, but the sight of him so boneless, so absolutely ruined is just furthering the heat between her legs. Hajime falls back beside him, not even bothering to remove the harness, and spreads her thighs. She slides her hand down, fingers tracing circles against her clit and she knows it won’t take her long with the sight of Tooru wrecked before her and the image of him coming in fresh in her memory. Prideful, powerful Oikawa Tooru trembling underneath her, begging for her, submitting to her. She sets into a practiced rhythm, exhaling roughly, and the next time she looks back at Oikawa, his eyes are on her, watching with a hunger in his eyes that just spurs her on. 

“I love watching you,” his voice is rough and weak and she loves it. “I’d help you, if I could move. You… You were incredible, Hajime. You’re dripping, bet you taste so good.” 

“I’m thinking about you,” her voice is breathy, punctuated by soft moans. Her unoccupied hand travels up to her breasts, rolling a nipple between her fingers, pinching it lightly. “Thinking about how well you took me. How desperate you were for it. Fuck.” Iwaizumi’s voice breaks and her eyes close as she rubs herself faster and she’s close. She can feel the heat of Oikawa’s gaze on her and it just pushes her closer. 

“Are you going to come for me this time? You got to watch me come, I want to watch you this time. Come for me, mi amor. You deserve it, you were so good for me.” 

A final flick of her fingers against her clit, and Iwaizumi is coming, thighs shutting around her hand as she trembles into the mattress, gasping his name; it’s not intentional, but after so many years together she nearly always comes with his name on her lips. She’s panting as she comes down from the high, settling into a similar state of exhaustion as her fiance. They lie there together, a comfortable silence between them, as they struggle to find the strength to move.

“You’re so beautiful when you come.” She turns back to gaze at him and the small smile and genuine adoration in his eyes is overwhelming. It spurs her honesty.

“So were you... I love you. I love you so fucking much, Tooru.” It’s not something she says often, not nearly often enough. She knows that he knows how much she loves him, despite the fact that she’s not naturally effusive, but in this moment, she feels like she could repeat those three words for hours, in every language she knows. 

And Oikawa beams at her, managing to sit up; she tells herself it’s because he’s had longer to recover, and not because he’s a professional athlete–she’s an athletic trainer and he is definitely  _ not _ in better shape than she is. “It’ll always be you, Hajime.” Oikawa holds a hand out to her. “Come on, we should shower. I’ll wash your hair for you.” He helps her out of the harness as they stand, and they stumble to the bathroom, both trying to support the other on shaking legs. “Next time, I want to ride you,” Oikawa’s eyes are full of mischief. 

“Next time?” 

“Please tell me there’s going to be a next time, mi amor. That was incredible.” 

She leans back against his chest under the stream of warm water, sinking into him as strong arms wrap around her. “Of course there will be a next time, Dumbykawa. You think I want to give this up?” And if he’d asked, she’d have sworn she was talking about pegging him, not about  _ him. _ Not about spending the rest of their lives together. And they’d both know it was a lie. But Oikawa just hums in agreement, and Iwaizumi sinks deeper into his chest, surrounded by warm water and steam and the presence of someone she loves. They’ll always have a next time.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! This was pure self-indulgence and so much fun to write. 
> 
> You can come hangout with me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/beefyboihinata). And if you're inclined to share this story on Twitter, you can do so [here](https://twitter.com/beefyboihinata/status/1328064041219223562).


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